Evening came like a whispered secret, slipping over the estate in hues of gold and ash. Villa D'Aria shimmered under the kiss of candlelight and sea air. Lanterns glowed along the garden paths, soft piano instrumentals humming faintly through the halls like a lullaby meant only for those who still believed in dreams.
Elena stood in front of the mirror, unsure why she cared so much about her reflection. She wore a satin dress—midnight blue, modest but elegant. It hugged her waist and swayed with the breeze coming in from the balcony. Her hair curled softly down her back, and she wore only a thin necklace, one her mother once gave her, the only thing left of a childhood that had long since faded.
Carlo had knocked gently on her door an hour before, informing her that dinner would be served in the west dining room, and that Mr. Ashford requested her company.
Requested.
The word rang in her mind as she stepped into the corridor.
She hadn't been "requested" in years.
Not for her music.
Not for her company.
Not for anything but to disappear from the public eye and retreat into the shadow of her own silence.
Lucien was already waiting.
The dining room was warm and romantic, with tall windows overlooking the coastline. A single table stood in the center—not long, not exaggerated—just intimate enough to feel personal. Candles flickered across the white tablecloth, their flames reflecting in crystal glasses filled with wine as dark as blood.
Lucien stood as she entered.
For a man who seemed to exist in the folds of power and distance, he looked unexpectedly... vulnerable in that moment.
"You look—" He paused, his gaze sweeping her in slow reverence. "Beautiful."
She didn't blush. Not because it didn't affect her—but because it affected her too much.
"You don't look so bad yourself," she said, taking the seat opposite him.
Dinner was served by quiet staff—plates of seared sea bass, roasted vegetables, delicate pastas infused with saffron and garlic. It was the kind of meal that tasted like luxury and comfort at once.
They ate in silence at first.
And then, he spoke.
"How was she?"
Elena didn't have to ask who he meant.
"Extraordinary," she said. "She listens better than most people with sight."
"She always has," he said, voice lower now. "She lost her vision at five. A condition no doctor could fix. Her father—my brother—didn't take it well. Disappeared after the diagnosis. Couldn't bear the thought of raising a blind child. So, I took her."
She studied him. "You raised her alone?"
He nodded. "I didn't know how to be a father. I still don't. But I know how to fight for what matters. And she matters."
A quiet stretched between them, full of understanding.
"I think she'll play," Elena said after a moment. "Eventually. There's a fire in her."
"She gets it from you."
She lifted her wine glass. "You don't even know me."
"But I listen."
She drank, letting the warmth spread.
"Why me, Lucien?" she asked, setting her glass down. "Why bring me here? There are hundreds of instructors more qualified, less… broken."
He didn't blink. "Because the broken understand sound differently."
His eyes locked with hers.
"The world listens to perfection. But Adriana needs to learn how to make music out of pain. Out of silence. Only someone who's lived that kind of silence can guide her."
Elena's heart twisted.
"You speak as if you know silence intimately."
He looked down. "I do."
A pause.
"Tell me," she whispered, voice softer now. "Who hurt you, Lucien?"
He looked up.
And for a split second, the man who had built this empire, who moved through life with cool precision and dark grace—cracked.
"No one you'd want to know," he said. "But she left a song in me. One I can't forget."
Elena reached across the table without thinking, her fingers brushing his.
"Then let me help you rewrite it."
His eyes burned into hers.
And suddenly, the air wasn't silent at all.